Friday, April 27, 2007

My favorite Penn Jillette story.


I've told this story a million times and it's not even my story to tell. I first heard this from Penn Jillette, himself, on a visit to the Howard Stern show, a few years ago. Trust me in that my retellings and this text piece, NOTHING can compare to Penn, telling it himself. He's a natural storyteller and this particular piece is, well, hilarious. If you ever get the chance, ask the man, himself, to tell you the story about his Mis-Adventure on the Vomit Comet.

I stumbled upon a text version of this story online on a Penn Jillette fansite and wanted to copy it here. Please note that it was written by Mr. Jillette himself and is reprinted without his permission. (Although, I'd happily ask for permission if I knew any way to contact him.)

Enjoy.


Learning to Fly, Strip, and Vomit on a 727
by Penn Jillette

Since I was a kid, I've wanted to be weightless. I really wanted to go to space, but part of going to space was being weightless. Just to hold something up in front of me, and have it stay right there is the idea of magic. As I got older, I battled gravity. My start in showbiz was as a juggler. Jugglers fight gravity. The hack jugglers cover a drop with a "standard" (meaning it's been stolen so much, those who didn't write it conveniently consider it to be public domain) 'cover' (it doesn't really cover very much, they know the prop is on the floor and they know you're chasing it, bent over like you're chasing a duck) line, "Sudden gust of gravity."

Now, that I'm 45 years old and I weight 280 pounds, gravity is a less sporting and more real enemy. I'm 6'6" tall and I still remember Leslie Fiedler writing in "Freaks, Myths of our Secret Selves" that "gravity is not kind to those who grow too large." As we get older, it seems the jockey build is healthier.

No one knows what gravity is. I mean we just don't know. There is no good theory. A good theory in science is one that we're damn sure is true: The Earth goes around the Sun. Evolution is how we got here. No one seriously doubts those. But, gravity, well, we just don't know.



So, right now, the only way you can feel weightless for more than a couple roller coaster seconds is by getting far enough away from Earth, or taking the Vomit Comet. The Vomit Comet is how NASA trains astronauts (the Russians must do it too, right?). They take a big old airplane and they go up and down really fast. When they go up, you weight 1.8 times your weight, and when they go down, you weigh around 0.

The FAA has always given NASA a monopoly on losing all your pounds of ugly fat (along with muscle, bone, and everything else). Astronauts get to ride it, some scientists get to ride it, and that's about it. Ron Howard made some backroom deal (it MUST have included sexual favors) to be able to shoot "Apollo 13," on the NASA Vomit Comet and they talked about it a bit, but it was soon quieted down. You're not REALLY supposed to use a government-funded program to make movies. Not really. I mean, I'm glad Tom, Gary, and Kevin got to fly, but if everyone really thought about it, why can't we all ride?

A couple free-market nuts at NASA decided they LOVED Zero G, and it was time to get off the socialist tit, and buy their own Vomit Comet and start selling rides on it. Everything the Vomit Comet does in within the specs of planes, and why can't we do what Ron and Tom got to do? That was the idea.

When they first got this harebrained scheme, I heard about it. It seems that when anyone gets a harebrained scheme, I'm CC'd on the memo. I loved nuts, I'm for nuts, I am nuts. They all get in touch with me. I told them I thought it was a great idea (and you know how much that means), and I wrote them email, gave them tickets to our show, and went to dinner with them a couple times.

They were going to get approval to fly a 727 very fast right straight down very soon. It was going to be a matter of months. That was 6 years ago. But, I kept talking to them, and whenever they gave me a date, I said I would be there, until it fell through again. Us free-market guys are always fighting the man.

Well, they finally fought the law and kinda sorta won. They at least won enough for me to fly. I finally did it. After 6 years of grueling cheerleading, I got be weightless. Only about 600 people in the world have felt the feeling. And as I sit here in my office at home, my body knows something it never knew before. It knows how it feels to be weightless for more than a second or two. And I feel it. I feel it every now and again. Just sitting here, I have the feeling in my whole body, that I might be able to just float away. I might be able to just take off. My Zero G buddies tell me that now my body knows, I'll have astronaut dreams. I will dream of floating and flying. I'm a different person. I'm old and huge and I have very bad eyes, it's unlikely I'll get into space for real -- but, I've been weightless, and now my body knows something it didn't know. I know what it feels like to weigh nothing, and I know that all the way through.

It was not without price. I had to get up early. We've been working hard on my show for the Sci-Fi Channel called "Fi-Sci with Penn Jillette, the Fiction Science Show," and I needed a rest, but I got up early in Vegas and caught the 8:10 to Burbank. Getting up, wasn't hard. I was as excited as a little kid and didn't sleep anyway. I decided to have a Cinnebon ("You pig!") for breakfast because I thought it might taste nice coming back up. I slept the whole flight to Burbank. I went from Burbank to Van Nuys by car.

These buddies of mine from NASA, Ray, Bob, and Peter, with a former astronaut, Byron, are the guys that started Zero G, a company to make the Vomit Comet available to the public. They met Billy Gibbons (of ZZ Top) in an airport and got him on the same jag as me. He's also a guy that cheerleads for nuts. Look at us for Christ’s sake. He was going up too. This was not a public flight. This was to get the pilots better at hitting perfect "Zero G" and try out the plane.

On board would be two pilots, Ray, Bob, Byron, and Peter. There were also going to be a flight doctor, a nurse, and two paramedics. Peter's girlfriend, who is a platinum blond, way big after-market breasted women in who works in nuclear medicine dressed VERY oddly for space was going for her first ride. And then there was Billy, and me. That was it. Billy, Sandra (the blond), and I were on the manifest as employees. Hey, we are employees. We've been cheerleading for 6 years.

So, there was Billy, big as life, with the big old Warner Brothers cartoon hillbilly beard, an African hat, a $250,000 Gibson starburst, a 6 pack of beer, and a specially made amp. The amp was made in a can of peanuts. He looked great. Billy is thin. Shaved he would weigh about 100 pounds. He was beaming all over. I've known Billy about 15 years, and although we don't see each other much, he feels like a friend. The medical people were very officious and not really joining in the merriment. Ray, the big cheese for Zero G, was so happy to see Billy and me. We were ready to go.

We walked out on the runway and there was the mystical plane that would battle gravity for us. It was a beat up 727 that said, "Mexicargo" on the side. Oh goodness. I'm not one to engage a lot in ethnic humor, but I did have to have some fun talking to Billy about our lives riding on "beans and Bondo." Man, it looked jury-rigged, and fly-by-night. But we were ready.

I explained to everyone that I was trying to shoot a hunk for Fi-Sci. I couldn't have a crew on board, so Ray, was going to do the shooting on a fancy DV camera. The movie Fi-Sci would be exploring the science behind would be "Barbarella" and the idea was to compare Hanoi Jane's strip in Zero G, which of course, was faked by lying on glass in Hollywood, with a REAL strip in Zero G by me. Yup, I was going to go weightless and strip naked. Sandra really wanted to join me, and I thought it would help the show, but Peter, her boyfriend, thought her stripping would hurt Zero G's credibility with the FAA. I guess big fat guys stripping in space is serious research.

Inside the plane is amazing. It's a cargo plane. There's nothing in it. Big open space. At the back were three rows of old coach seats with the oxygen just laying on the seats, and a big mat on the floor. That was it. A cooler tied down with ropes, and a box of Ziplocs that would be used for our vomit. It was sparse. Bob came out to do his little flight attendant speech, except we really listened. This was not some food server in the sky; this was a real former NASA guy. You see, well, they have lost cabin pressure a few times, so we might have to use the oxygen. It didn't drop down and turn on, we had to find it, and turn on the oxygen from the bottle. Of course, if we did lose cabin pressure, we'd be heading down to thicker air so fast we wouldn't have time for the oxygen before we were safe, but Bob was having fun scaring us. You see, the Vomit Comet, for all the weirdness is safe. I mean, it's doing safe stuff. It's as safe as any big plane and that's safer than hanging out on your front steps. It just doesn't seen safe and, for creeps like us -- that adds to the fun.

Bob is a real military guy. EVERY SINGLE SHUTTLE ASTRONAUT has done his or her weightless training with Bob. He also ran the Vomit Comet for the "Apollo 13" movie. He has spent more time weightless than the shuttle astronauts, and he's done it all on a plane like this, in 30-second hunks. He has done equivalent of WEEKS, in 30 seconds hunks. "How's work, Bob?" "Oh, it has its ups and downs.?"

If you don't know how weightless works, I'll run it by you. This huge plane will do parabolas. It'll go pretty close to straight up for 30 seconds, and then it'll turn around and head straight for the ocean. You know that feeling you get at the top of a roller coaster before the big drop? That feeling where your stomach goes to your throat. It'll last a second or so. Well, this plane becomes a huge roller coasters, and instead of a second, you get 30 seconds. Thirty seconds of that feeling. 30 seconds! The rollercoaster example doesn't tell you anything. Thirty seconds of Vomit Comet weightless is not 60 times a half second of Six Flags weightless. It's a different thing. Imagine an hour orgasm. You can't and that's my point.

The first thought is that 30 seconds is nothing, you can't even tell a proper joke in 30 seconds, but 30 seconds of that wacky feeling is a lot. Thirty seconds of no weight. Thirty seconds of being able to fly! Another way to look at how it works is that we're falling straight down and the plane, and everyone else, and even the air is staying around us, in the same relativity. It's not easy for the pilots. They're flying straight down at the water, and they're trying to keep the plane heading perfectly straight down, and then they pull out, and back up you go, and when you go back up, you go to 1.8 G's. I would go from weightless to 504 pounds in a few seconds.

Bob explained that it wasn't the Zero G, that would make us vomit, it was the 1.8 G. He said that we needed to sit down at the end of Zero G and get our heads straight up, perpendicular to the floor. He said it would be better if we didn't talk or laugh or look around, but just sit. That was out best chance of not getting sick. We would go from 0G to 1.8G and we were going to do it over 30 times! We would be weightless for at least 15 minutes all together. That would be longer than Alan Shepard on his first flight. I would also weight 504 pounds for 15 minutes. The plane has only one small window in the middle of the open space. It's recessed and hard to look though. We would have no idea where we were. We wouldn't be able to synch our eyes with what our bodies were feeling. Like a roller coaster in the dark with NO WIND. Everything would be moving with us. We would just feel it in our bodies.

We sat waiting. I sat with Billy. The plane got really hot as they got ready. We were pouring sweat and talking about our nutty lives. After about a half hour, strapped in, we couldn't keep up the tension and talk turned to ZZ and P&T. We talked showbiz. We talked music. We told stories as the sweat poured off us. The woman doctor in her "Flight Doctor" labeled scrubs asked us questions about anti-nausea drugs and bragged about all her flight experience. The paramedics sat quietly, Sandra and Peter kissed. Ray, and Byron talked on headsets to the crew, and Billy and I told stories and sweated. It was a long, hot wait.

It's very weird to be in an airplane unable to see out any windows. I mean, you sit on the aisle, you may not think you're seeing out the windows, but it's so odd when you really can't. We took off and then had to fly out over the ocean, it took a while with all the noise regulations over Southern California.

Finally, it was time. Bob explained we'd do "2 Martians, 2 lunars, and then go to zero." That meant we'd have two 30 seconds at 1/3rd gravity, two at 1/6th gravity and then the real deal. In between each one, we'd get heavy. They told us we might want to stay in our seats for the first few until we got used to it. We were told to start slow. Bob was just talking to Billy and me. They said if we felt sick, we should come back to the seats, and strap in and they'd be there to help us. Bob made with his arm, the orientation of the airplane, so we were understand a little of what we were feeling. Even though we were told to be careful, Ray, and Bob (backwards from the comedy team) were walking around, even during the going up times. His arm sloped up and I felt heavy. I mean I was really pushed into my seat and then . . . his hand . . . as I stared at his arm curving, I felt lighter.

I was lighter. And Ray, and Bob, started dancing and jumping. I had to shake my head. They were moving in slow motion. I had seen this motion in movies, but I had never seen it. They are both stocky men, but they were jumping huge distances and they did backflips together and landed on their feet. I felt my arms, they were so light. I stayed seated. And then we got heavy. I could feel the skin of my face pull down and it was hard to lift my arms. That lasted 30 seconds and it was time for another Martian.

Billy couldn't wait; he was up out of his seat, jumping, and giving a Texas "Whoooo." I was a little more cautious; I unbuckled, and lifted myself from my seat. I was a gymnast. I could hold my whole weight with my arms with no strain. Man, oh man. "30 seconds!" and we got heavy. I was back in my seat, looking straight up, trying not to get sick. But, I was doing fine. Okay, on lunar, I would rock.

Bob's hand told us it was coming, and we were lunar. Weighing 47 pounds, I jumped into the big empty space with the mat on the floor and I jumped, very cautiously. I went right to the ceiling (not far for me), and then, well, I've always wanted to walk on my hands. There I was, like the greatest circus star you've ever seen, running along on my hands. Billy was dancing some weird ZZ Top, Texan nut dance. Sandra was doing cartwheels and flips. The medical people were just getting up out of their seats. "30 Seconds!", Bob warned us.

I hurried to the edge of the plane and sat on the floor with my head straight up. I really felt the weight this time. My second lunar was great. My handstand was better, and I tried a flip. I fell over, but it felt great. I was so strong. The body that I've been stuck in for decades, became new. I was stronger. Looking at the others was amazing. It really was slow motion. I HAD NEVER EVEN SEEN what I was seeing let alone FELT IT! Amazing. I stood on one hand. I spun and flew. "30 seconds!," rush to the wall, and feel the oppressive weight come back almost double. Time to pay the piper.

Now it was straight up and down. Now the weight was really heavy. Soon we were going to be weightless. I sat straight and quiet and waited. It was a long 30 seconds of gravity oppression and then, Bob's hand -- and FREEDOM. I mean complete freedom. Peter threw M&Ms around Sandra's head and they just floated around her. Ray started just flying. I pushed off and, still seated, I floated in the air. Billy came flying at me and I caught him. There was no up or down, I was upside-down and Peter's ass was over my head. I grabbed Sandra and toss her lightly to Billy. When she got to Billy they both went off together. Ray grabbed me and spun me around. "30 Seconds!"

Like a ton of bricks. I scrambled to the wall. I breathed through my nose. I lifted my arms and it took all I had. I could feel my stomach, and my head was hard to hold up. This was only 1.8 G, but 30 seconds is a long time.

And we were weightless again. Billy and I were laughing, hugging, and floating. I did all the stuff I remembered seeing astronauts doing. I got myself spinning in one place in a little ball. Up and down didn't matter. We were all bumping into each other. Well, wait a minute, not all. Billy and I looked over at the cocky medical team. All but one of them, were over in their fancy scrubs, seat belted in and vomiting their guts out. They were gone. I don't even know if they had stood up. They looked miserable -- it was going to be a VERY long flight for them. We were going to be doing this for 2 hours. The one woman, that one that wasn't a doctor, was up playing with us, but the other three were out. They weren't going to be there to help us. I said to Billy, "Yeah, flight doctors aren't ready for this. But, the old road dogs can do anything, we've played Cleveland!" Billy got to laughing. There he was with his stupid hat, hillbilly beard, voodoo necklaces, and tight rocker jeans, spinning in space, yelling, "We've played Cincinnati!" (He changed it.) It was wild. "30 seconds!"

I wasn't quite sitting down, I was kind of lying near the wall, and I slid down the wall. They had told me to keep my head up, so I fought, man did I fight, and I got to a sitting position and I tried to breath slow and remember it would be over soon. I won't detail each time, but cool things happened: I got into a full lotus yoga position and floated around. Billy liked that, and then next time he did it too. We sat next to each other and got all ready -- we took off together and floated by the video. I found myself over Billy right as "30 Seconds" came and had to use all my strength to not crush him. The same thing happened with Sandra, and I used a little less of my strength and crushed her a little just for fun.



All this was being videoed by Ray. I did a few jokes, "I'm about to lose 280 pounds of ugly fat," stuff like that, but it was hard to think. My body had never felt any of this before.

The pilots were doing a good job of keeping the plane right around us. Once in a while, we'd bang to the sides. Toward the end, we had one surprising negative G that threw us to the ceiling, but it was mostly smooth. It was time to get to work. Billy went first, with help from Bob and Byron, he got out his guitar, this beautiful Gibson that he borrowed for this flight. Now, Bob, Peter, Ray, and Byron, don't sit down at 1.8, they walk around. Nothing changes for them, except how they move. They go back and forth from flying to trudging, but they're over helping the vomiting medics, and shooting video and running up and talking to the pilots. These guys are used to it. So, they got Billy's guitar out and they shot some rock video stuff. I tried to stay out of the shot, but as he was spinning the guitar, ZZ style, in front of him, he lost control and I had to catch it. Sandra was trying to get into the shots. Man, it looked great. The beard flying, the necklaces flying, and the guitar just floating.

I played around with a ball; it would just float in front of me. Amazing. And, even more amazing was 1.8, because you never seen THAT in movies. There's no way to fake it. The ball moved so fast. Throwing it HARD, I couldn't hit the ceiling. Throwing and catching the one ball wasn't easy. Amazing. I really want to try to juggle three in 1.8. It would take some time.

Billy had gotten the video test that he wanted, and it was time for me to work. I was going to strip. We had been back and forth a lot of times and I was getting beads of sweat on my forehead and it was getting tough. They're thinking of doing 15 parabolas for civilians and we'd already done 20. It was getting a little panicky, but it was time for the real wildness.

I told everyone that I was going all the way, that I would be naked. I let my hair down and it flew. I licked my lips. We went 0 G and I tried to work the camera and lick my lips and play the eyes and get my hands in my hairs. I sexily unlaced my big old size 14 Doc, and I let it float, with my sock, in front of me. Man, it looked great.

I couldn't do the whole strip in 30 seconds and even in hunks, it would take too long, so I had to keep stripping in 1.8. Man, that was hard, but I got my other boot off. Now, I'd take the boot off and it would float, and then Byron, and Bob, would scramble to grab it and tie it down so it wouldn't hurt anyone. My clothes were being tied and taped down as I went. I undid my belt, played with it stripped style, and let it go to float like a sea snake. Next were the pants and those came off while I twirled in a ball. In a few 30-second hunks, I was down to t-shirt and boxers. I whipped the shirt off and then tried for a move I was really hoping would work. I hit the wall so I would be spinning, and I took off my boxers as I went to the camera, I timed it right and Ray said it was perfect, as I took them off my ass went right at him and hit the camera.

Now, I was in zero G and naked! I was free. The first person to have been naked on the vomit comet. Bob said, "It's the first time I've been nauseous in Zero G!" Ray got shots of the medics throwing up. Okay, the next few times, I was just going wild. I put my hands over my package, and I was spinning on my axis. I was trying to cover my dick and balls, and do all the sexy Jane faces. Without my arms the whole thing got much harder.

Even though Sandra had been told she couldn't strip, she was inspired. As I sat across from her, in 1.8 she lifted up her shirt. In 1.8, her saline did not even bend. Man, that's some nutty surgery. These huge tits didn't even feel the 1.8. Wow. This time, I was going to spin around naked, and she was going to take her shirt off. Ray didn't know what to cover. He knew he should cover me, and he wanted to cover her.

Well, as I was spinning, and Sandra was starting to strip, we got a gust of negative G that threw us to the ceiling. I was rolling, naked, across the ceiling and then 30 was up, and I was back on the floor rolling. As I went by, I hit my belt and saw that my Dad's silver dollar was gone from his buckle. That's the silver dollar my Dad gave to me. He wore it all his life and now it's mine. I was really worried. I yelled to Byron, "Find the silver dollar, please!" I thought I was going to cry. He had no trouble finding it, but in all the excitement, of being naked, bumped around, Sandra whacking the ceiling with her top over her head, and just worrying about the belt buckle, I didn't get myself to a nice seated position, by the time of 1.8 and I couldn't get my orientation. I was dizzy from spinning (that axis thing is an advanced move), and, BAM, did I feel sick.

Whoa. I said to Ray, "Man, I'm going to be sick." He got me a bag and I leaned over into it and started vomiting. It really hurt the muscles in 1.8, then we went weightless, and I panicked a little. Ray said, "I've got you, don't worry about anything." He held my arm as I floated, naked and vomiting. He told me later he kept the camera on me and I floated naked and vomited into my hair, the bag, and all over him and myself. SEXY!!!! Actually, I didn't really vomit on myself or him. The vomit just floated there in 0 G and THEN it went to 1.8 vomit and landed all over us. Heavy vomit.

Byron and Bob were all over me with paper towels and they really cleaned me up. Now, I don't like to vomit, but I've heard on heroin you vomit and don't care. This was like that. I didn't care much. Also, this wasn't flu-bile-pizza vomit. This was friendly Caffeine-free-Diet-Coke-we're-having-fun vomit. Billy had almost vomited a while before, and was staying cool. He didn't vomit. The problem was that I got near sick, and then did all this stupid stuff for camera.

After I was cleaned up, I put on my boxers in 1.8, and felt mostly better. We only had a couple of zeros left and I enjoyed them quietly. I really enjoyed them. I floated in my boxers. Sandra gave up on getting her top off. It takes a man to strip in space.

We were done and had to go all the way back to the airport. It was about an hour flight. I was uncomfortable, but elated. I sat down next to the vomiting medics (great name for a band), who never had any fun and I talked with Byron about spending his first 2 days in space really, really sick. They said I was over the worst, and next time up, even the 1.8 wouldn't bother me much. My whole body was different. Every time the plane took a little dip, I got ready to lift off. Man, my body knew what it was to fly and I can't let that go.

It was a long flight back. I came off the plane in my boxers. I got dressed and did some Fi-Sci interview stuff with Billy and Ray. I didn't know what I was feeling. I wasn't even excited. As Billy said, "I have to get back my sea legs." I didn't know what to feel. I had --

Billy, Bob, Ray, (sounds like one Texan name) and I went to a Mexican bar and restaurant and ate. I was hungry. We talked. I pitched an idea for the Zero G ZZ Top/P&T video to Billy. We talked about how to get these guys to make a ton of money off this and how to get through the rest of the red tape that's already taken 6 years. We laughed and talked to other patrons. Billy and I will be close friends from now on.
After 4 hours in the bar, they drove me to the airport, and I flew back to Vegas. I slept on the flight, and every time there was a little bump, my arms went to the arms of the chair, and I was ready to push off and fly.

In bed last night, I could feel myself getting light. I'm sore and tired today, but as I sit here typing, I feel every 10 minutes or so like I'm going to be able to spin in the middle of the room.
My body has learned that it can fly.

The NASA Vomit Comet

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Thursday, April 26, 2007

Christ Died For Our Dave Colan.

Dave Colan told me that he's never seen this picture before.

Which is ironical because he doesn't know that I have this blog and won't see it here either.

But on the off chance that he "Vanity Searches" his name and Google leads him back here he'll see it now.



I love this picture. I used to have a copy of it taped to my notebook in high school. I haven't seen it since then. That was, oh, 14 years ago.

I'm glad that I have it here in my blog now.

To help Dave find his way here, let me use this space to drop some "search phrases" that I am pretty sure that he'll Google. The closer they are to something that he would actually Google, the more likely he will find this blog.

Ignore these search phrases. They're bread crumbs for Dave.

"Dave Colan Improv"
"Dave Colan Chicago"
"Dave Colan Chicago Improv"
"Dave Colan is a dick"
"Dave Colan is gay"
"Dave Colan has a tiny wiener"
"Dave Colan is a pedophile"
"Dave Colan gives hojos for five dollars"
"Dave Colan has a thing for Portugese He-Shes"
"Dave Colan has a big, white ass"
"Cures for Syphillis; Dave Colan"


Cheers,
COB

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Marketing...

Look at this picture...





Now then.



There are no words printed on this picture (well, except "Tony" on his bandana) and yet...

...when you looked at this picture, you IMMEDIATELY heard the words "They're Grrrrreat!" in your head, didn't you?

I did.

That is marketing dollars hard at work. I have been branded with years of commercials to associate a picture with a catchphrase and then with a product. Christ, I can almost taste the Frosted Flakes and the cold milk in my mouth, if I think about it!

I don't know. I think that's fascinating. I don't think about Tony The MotherFucking Tiger very often. If at all. I've never sought him out for any reason shape or form. And yet, I know who he is, what he says and what he's talking about when he says it, without ever intending to.

I just think that's interesting.
I had almost a Pavlovian reaction to that picture after stumbling across it on a Google search. And I wanted to record it here.

That is all.

Cheers,
Mr.B

An Introduction to Typography...

Kudos to my man, Ted, for introducing me to typography in his blog. (What? You're not reading The Transmutation Effect on a regular basis? You've missed some cool shit, my friend. Get up on that.) Also, Patton Oswalt likes him!

Some of the clip that I'm about to post here, I've cribbed directly from Ted's blog. Just know that up front.

But they're damned awesome. And the more that I research typography on Youtube, the cooler shit that I find. I am really impressed with the variety of the the animation style that these animators use. It's funny how much emotion they can squeeze out of either a font choice or a color choice or a graphic choice.

And to keep you reading this post, let me tell you here that I've posted my favorite typography video last. So, either work your way there or skip ahead. Either way, don't miss it.

Also, these videos are typically pretty short. So, don't sweat that I've linked you to some overly long video. And some of the language is NOT SAFE FOR WORK. So, know that, too. Obviously, they all work best with sound!

First up, this groovy clip from Oceans Eleven!


Finally, someone wrote down the "actual" rules to Fight Club. And then animated them.


A quickie. Here's the Streetlight Manifesto!


Here's a clip from "Pulp Fiction" presented typographically. (Please note, the language is not safe for work.) I like Brett's purple "Hiska Hiska"s!


This is "Titled", with music by Philip Glass. Don't bother trying to read it. You can't. Just lay back and enjoy the trip, man.


This one kills me. Really, it's Bob Barkers finest work. It's called "Ask them, Ladies..."


You have GOT TO try "Space Food Sticks!" From Pillsbury!


A speech from "American Beauty".


But for the best...

For the absolutely coolest typography video I've ever seen...

you have to click here.

Cheers,
COB

A Cookout at Laflamboys!

Last Saturday, I enjoyed a nice cookout at John Laflamboy's house. (Perhaps you know him. Perhaps you were even there!) It was a lovely day out, warm and sunny. Hendo sprang for some meat for the grill and vodka and cranberry juice. People played "Cornhole" in the backyard and joked about that being the actual name of the game.

Good people.
Good conversation.
A general feeling of relaxation and goodwill all the way around. Some of my favorite people in Chicago were there to eat meat with me.

I took some pictures and some videos with my camera. If you were there, these are some of the things that you might've seen:

Here's a WIDESCREEN mega-view collage of what I saw, from where I was sitting, at the table. (Click on the pic to bigify it!)


The guy on the left is Hendo. The guy on the right is Gizmo. I am not making any of that up. That's what people call them.


The people on the patio.


Another view of the patio.


This person (that I didn't know) got out her hula hoop and did all manner of cool dancing with it. I bet that would look pretty badass under a blacklight too. (It had funky orange neon tape on it.)






Andrea is tall.


Joe, taking an important phone call, in the corner of the yard.


Lee and I are Cornholin' buddies!


A Corn Holin' Action Shot!


People playing "Cornhole!"

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

I'm Big in Morocco!

Whilst tooling around in my site-counter, seeing who has been visiting "word" lately, I came upon a strange set of odd circumstances...

1.) Someone in Beijing has been hitting my site, 3 or 4 times a day for the past two weeks, trying to access the topless picture of Jessica Lange that I linked to, in my first blog entry. Wierd, huh?
That link has been active here since January 2006 and someone in China is using my first blog entry to oggle J.Lange's nibblies. This guy (and I don't think that I'm making a big assumption to think that it's a guy) never looks at anything else on my blog. Just the first entry. And just the link to the boobie picture.
I want to tell this guy "Dude. Save it on your own computer. You can set as your desktop and perv the lady anytime you want. Please, go and enjoy it with my blessings!"

2.) Yesterday, some anonymous user in Morocco used the Google translation program to view the front page of my blog in French. It took me a little bit to find the program he used and to get it to work for me, but you should be able to look at the front page of my blog, IN FRENCH, using this link.
Okay, let me say that I think that's fucking cool. Somebody was curious enough about what I'm writing to translate it over to their native language. And what I write looks cool as shit, in French.

For example, check out this gem...

En réalité, sont les vétérinaires chevronnés d'improv qui commercent le bagout et les zingers soulârds avec la synchronisation parfaite comme un bas-loyer Martin et Lewis.


and this one...

Me baiser avec un Web-Tireur !


Thanks for checking out my website, Mr. Anonymous Moroccan visitor. Your francophilliac view of my blog has absolutely made my day. As it turns out, I'm fucking fascinating in ANY language!

Je suis un ballot,
Mr.B

Monday, April 16, 2007

The Prostitute Grift.

This is another one of those entirely, 100% true stories that I like to drop in here, from time to time.

This story comes gurgling up to the forefront of my consciousness, straight from 1987. When I was but a lad of 12.

By age 12, I knew everything I needed to know about girls, without accumulating any actual experience. Just that year, or the year before that I discovered late night adult films on Showtime and HBO and Cinemax (or their early predecessors). One hot summer night, I discovered the erotic film, "Emmanuelle" and saw my first girl on girl kiss. In this way, I was born into manhood.

I knew what sex looked like.
And I knew what it felt like when I did it to myself.
But what I didn't know was what sex felt like, when you do it with a girl.
This need for actual experience clawed at my psyche, day and night. I was like Dr. Frankenstein, obsessed with the monster that I'd created.

All the girls that I knew at the time were my age and just weren't into sex, yet. (At least, not to my knowledge.) And the older girls that I knew (the sluts) wouldn't give me the time of day. I couldn't get any action off of them, either. So, I devised a plan, so perfect, so devious, so foolproof that I was positive that it would work. (Keep in mind, while reading this, that I'd seen a lot of screwball comedies at that age and this actually sounded feasible to me.)

I call the plan, "The Prostitute Grift" and here's how it works...

As a bright eyed, innocent lad, I wander into the seedier areas of downtown Louisville, KY. and locate a street corner where a gaggle of prostitutes might be hanging out. The corner should be well lit and have a pay-phone nearby. And visible to that pay-phone, should be a different pay-phone. But the two of them should be far enough apart that you can't hear the conversations going on at them.

I would approach the distant pay-phone, looking as sharp as a 12 year old boy could look. I was to wear cologne and clean underwear and slick my hair down, to look more adult. To top it off, I was to wear my Sunday Church suit. Because 12 year olds ALWAYS look more adult in their business suits. If a prostitute and I made eye contact, I would smile and wave at them and proceed to make a "Very Important Call" that would appear to not involve the prostitutes at all.

From the distant phonebooth, I would call the phone booth nearest to the girls. Intrigued by the change in their hum-drum whorish evening, one of the ladies of the night would answer the ringing pay-phone. I would speak to her, disquising my voice with my keen vocal skills as a trained actor and imppressionist. I would assume the persona of "Mysterious Millionaire Uncle" and this is what I would say...

"Hello, Young Lady. You don't know me, but I am a Mysterious Millionaire who lives in the area. I am observing you and your conversation from afar. Across the street, you'll see my nephew using the pay-phone, calling his broker. I love my nephew very, very much and it grieves me to know that he's never known the pleasure of a woman's touch."

"I, myself, am old and have had many women. But my nephew is a virgin. Untested and unaware of the subtle pleasures of the sexual act. Let me cut to the chase with you, madam."

"I would like to hire your talents to sexually pleasure my nephew. Give him the works! Use every erotic art that you know! Bring a friend and sandwich him between your ample bosoms, a sweaty, entanglement of limitless experimentation. Give him a short rest, if you deem it neccessary and then do it again. Over and over! In and out! Up and down! In a pair or a threesome! I want you to give him The Big Show. The Whole Enchilada. The Gold Star Treatment! A night that he will never forget!"

"Now, I am no fool. I know that having my nephew sample every item on your menu of delights, is going to be a costly venture. Frankly, I don't care the cost. I am a millionaire and can easily pay for your services. Give him an afternoon, evening and morning of sexual debauchery and I will richly reward you."

"I have, but one caveat. He must never know that this privilege comes from me. If he knew of my involvement, he would hate me forever and I can't bear the loss of his love. So, when you approach him, make no mention of your employment or my presence in the transaction. Do this, and an not inconsequential bonus is in your future."

"Once you've finished pleasuring him, return to this pay-phone and I will have my driver arrive with your payment, in cash. Immediately. Is this amenable to you?"


Once I had secured the prostitutes compliance, I would exit the payphone and walk by her, whistling a merry tune. Totally oblivious to what had just transpired.

The prostitute would immediately begin hitting on me. I would act surprised, but interested by what she was offering. A worldly little chap. Once she'd broken my will, she and a big-breasted. bisexual friend of hers would take me to a hotel nearby where they would proceed to blow my little 12 year old mind up, with their crazy sexiness.

I would eventually leave the hotel, before the two prostitutes woke up. I would head to a previously appointed pick-up spot and have a teenage friend drive me home.

Eventually, the duped pair of prostitutes would make their way down to street level to wait for a payment that would never come. Ha ha! Take that, prostitute! You've been grifted by a twelve year old criminal genius! And I FINALLY get the sex that I so desperately needed.

I can remember this plan in graphic detail. I was so sure that it was going to work that I would scope out suitable street corners whenever my family drove into downtown Louisville for any reason. I never saw any actual prostitutes, but I was pretty sure that they hung around, at night.

Now, twenty years and several sexual encounters away from that plan, the whole thing is just damned ridiculous to me. No prostitute in her right mind is going to fall for such a hair-brained scheme. Likely, she'd know EXACTLY what was happening and come over and either spank me until I ran away crying or drag me into an alley, take anything of value that I had and then kicked my ass for good measure.

Completely leave aside the fact that I was absolutely unaware that prostitutes weren't just dick-hungry nymphos who chose that job to get paid to do what they wanted, anytime and anywhere. I was oblivious to the realities of their lives and why they did what they did. They weren't real to me. My experience with prostitutes were pathetically mis-informed. The only prostitutes that I knew about were in the movies "The Man With Two Brains" and "Trading Places" and "Porkies"! (Not the best sources for this sort of information.)

My worldly experience was so far removed from reality that I couldn't see the gigantic holes in my plan. And in retrospect, I am amazed that I actually believed that plan would work. I really believed it would. 100 percent. I possessed the right combination of imagination, naivete and confidence to believe in that plan.

A year later, a babysitter would show me my first real boob. (not both, just the one. She didn't want to get in trouble for that.)

After that, a little gal that I nicknamed "kitten" taught me how to make out with someone. (She also gave me lice. Let me tell you, THAT was fun.)

Eventually, I got to touch an actual vagina in a swimming pool in Florida. (I just tried to hold on, while the girl did all the work, chasing down and subduing her own orgasm, despite my awkward fumblings.)

And in high school, a girl stepped up, declared the event and took my virginity from me. I was grabbed, stiumlated and thrust into the collective ranks of Experienced Men to the soundtrack of a cassette tape of Bobby Brown's Greatest Hits!

I completely forgot about "The Prostitute Grift".
Actual life experience was so full of possibilities that I didn't need a Musical-Comedy style scheme to try and steal sex from people. Of course I never tried it. It's now filed quietly away in my memory, along with "Middle School Detective Agency" and "Building My Own SpaceShip", in the file for Silly Childhood Plans That Wouldn't Have Worked Anyways.

Cheers,
Mr.B


At age 12, my entire experience with prostitutes was limited to Jamie Lee Curtis in the movie, "Trading Places". I think SHE would've slept with 12 year old me. If only out of pity.

My Kryptonite(s)...

At one point or another, I have claimed that everything on this list was "my kryptonite".

Brownies.
Cookie Cakes.
Fresh Baked Donuts.
Ben & Jerry's Chubbie Hubby Ice Cream.
Pumpkin Pie.
Deep Dish Pizza.
Warm Towels, straight from the dryer.
Puppies.
Nina Simone songs.
Comics Books.
JSA Action Figures.
Used DVD Mega-Bargains.
Chilled Vodka Shots.
Each and Every Girlfriend.
White Tanktops (w no bra).
Boobs.
LipstickLesbians.
Rosario Dawson.

From this list, we can infer two things...

1.) I have a lot of weaknesses.

2.) I am a 12 year old boy.

Rise and Shine and Give God Your Glory! Glory!

Both Saturday and Sunday mornings, I had an open schedule to sleep as late as I wanted to.

In the past, I've slept in on those days, as late as noon or 1pm, if I was out late the night before.

On both days, without any prompting from Maggie or my cell-phone or my alarms, I woke up at 7:30am.



Wierd, huh?

I felt like I was somehow cheating myself out of much-deserved rest time. Some of my favorite mornings were where I got to sleep in, finish dreams out and wake up naturally, on my own. Late in the morning.

Not this weekend, though.

On Sunday, in sheer defiance and stubbornness, I immediately crammed my head back onto my pillow and managed to squeeze another 45 minutes of sleep before waking up definatively.

It was nice being up at a decent hour on Sunday. I checked email, cleaned a bunch of music off of my computer, burned some backup CDs, and gathered up laundry to be washed that day. All that and I STILL had enough time to watch an episode or two of "LOST".

I think that a BIG part of it is that I'm not going to work at a place I hate anymore. I actually look forward to the commute and the walk to work, each day. I enjoy being on this assignment. I like being here. And there's no sense of dreading the start of the day, be it weekends or workdays. And with that new appreciation for my temp assignment, I'm no longer staying up absurdly late at night, trying to squeeze some recreation time out of the wee hours of the morning, dreading the thought of going to work, in a few short hours.

I don't know if this pattern is going to continue.
But I am certainly enjoying it, now, while it lasts.

Awake, Alive and Motivated,
Mr. B

Saturday, April 14, 2007

"A low-rent Martin & Lewis!"

Hey there!

So, a local web magazine reviewed the BBR for their online publication and the review is pretty good. Check it out!

Belmont Burlesque Revue
Girls, girls, girls at the Playground Theater.


When you check out the Belmont Burlesque Revue, don't forget to BYOB. I did, and that was poor judgment according to the guy in the tux with the microphone because I'd have no buffer between me and the show that was about to BLOW MY MIND. Then four sirens in fishnets shimmied out and shook their near-bare bon-bons dangerously close to my sober face. They teased and winked and wriggled and rocked their pasties with aplomb. Hoots ensued and hollers followed. My mind didn't blow exactly, but I admit I blushed a little bit.

Allow me to introduce the Belmont Bombshells: Titi Touche, Paris Green, Naughty Natanya, Lady Anabelle and Ms. Pixi. Once a month at midnight these girls take over the low-lit stage at the to titillate rowdy crowds with some old-school bump-n-grind. Whether slowly shedding a skimpy fireman getup or peeling back velvet gloves and evening gowns, the Bombshells prove that coquettish fun beats pole-grinding sleaze for sexy any day.

"Man of the Hour" Jack Midnight (Mark Henderson, the guy in the tux) emcees the event. When he's not introducing the girls, serenading the guests with surprisingly good standards or taking slugs from a bottle of Jim Beam, he's insulting dimwitted stagehand Second Cousin Joe (Mr.B). In reality, both are seasoned improv vets who trade boozy patter and zingers with perfect timing like a low-rent Martin and Lewis.

Billed as the longest consecutively running burlesque show in Chicago, the troupe attracts a rotating roster of vaudevillian talent from around the city. Variety acts ham it up between routines, including The Amazing Tomas, who peppers his impressive close-up magic with awful puns, and funnyman Jared Logan, who brought tears to my eyes despite my missing buzz. A few of the numbers could stand a touch of polish (Ziegfeld Follies it ain't), but overall the troupe's charm and salacious enthusiasm make it well worth the price of admission.

Open run at Playground Theater, 3209 North Halsted Street. Fourth Saturday of each month; midnight. Tickets cost $10. For more information or reservations, visit http://www.belmontburlesque.com/ or call (773) 556-8238.



Pretty sweet, eh?

I asked Mark and Megan if we could use "a low-rent Martin and Lewis" in some of our future marketing material. You know, something like...

Enjoy the hilarious antics of Jack Midnight and Second Cousin Joe ("A low-rent Martin & Lewis" - Centerstage Chicago)!!!

It's the "low-rent" part that makes me laugh.
It's sort of like saying, "Oh she's actually pretty...for a fat girl." Ya know?
And the relentless satirist in me can't resist latching onto that and wanting to plaster it all over our marketing materials! A point of pride.

On a side note, I used that comment to do a little reading on Martin & Lewis on the wikipedia. I kinda knew that they were a pretty hot comedy duo, performing in Vegas and appearing in several movies together. I knew that they eventually split up and had a huge falling out. I think that towards the end of Dean Martin's life, they reconciled things. Which was nice.

What I didn't know about them, was that Martin & Lewis were most well known for improvising their shows onstage. When most comedy duos were doing carefully scripted sketches, Martin & Lewis were out there, making that shit up, as they went along. Sure, they probably had bits that they repeated, but they found those bits through improvising.

I like that about them.

I also like it because that's essentially what Hendo and I are doing for the BBR. We basically make everything up, as we go along. And 9 times out of 10, it's solid material that kills the audience. I have the DVD to prove it.

It's nice to have that little link to some of our predecessors in the comedy. It was a nice little compliment, after all.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Thursday, April 12, 2007

It's Cartoon Time, kiddies!

LC called me last night to remind me that I never did get around to posting Mr.Gilmour's excellent cartoons on my blog. She's right. I forgot to. So, after a short delay, here they are!

The Birds discuss "Politics".


The Birds discuss "College".


The Birds discuss "Homosexuality".


And finally, on a similar, but not identical "bird video theme", I present...

When Emu's Attack!


Generally speaking, when I see ANY animal approaching me with the "Jaws" theme playing, I know that it's going to end badly.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Spider-Idiot!

Lord, but I am a fool sometimes.

So, I got an email today from the Navy Pier: IMAX telling me that tickets are now available online for the opening weekend of Spiderman 3! And OF COURSE, because I am die-hard geek and I am Dying to see this thing, I resolved myself to buy tickets, asap.

4 of them.

1 for me and 3 for friends. Who knows? I might even take a date. A spider-date!

Tickets are $15 a pop. With processing fees, the whole shebang cost me $64. Not exactly cash that I have laying around right now, but this is SPIDERMAN 3! OPENING WEEKEND! ON THE FUCKING IMAX! I'll eat Ramen for a few days to get that ticket.

I picked the 7pm show on Saturday, May 5th.
I got 4 seats in the middle of Row F.
They are non-refundable and non-exchangable.
I entered my credit card information and made the purchase.

It wasn't until I got my emailed confirmation that I knew the ridiculous mistake that I'd made.

Saturday, May 5th, in addition to being Cinco De Mayo, is also the night of the Babes Across Borders: Belmont Burlesque Martyrs MegaShow!

Fuck me with a Web-Shooter!

That show is our first co-production with another team of girls. In this case, the lovely ladies of the SteelTown Sirens from Canada are coming down to perform with us. And because we're performing in Martyrs, instead of The Playground, we can potentially seat up to 300 people. Easily the biggest venue that we've ever played in. It's a big, big, big night for the show.

Ah, fuck.

The long and short of it is... there's no way on Earth that I'm missing that Burlesque show. It's too important to the girls. It's too important to me. Missing that or coming late to call is just not an option.

So now I'm out 60 bucks for tickets that I can't use to an opening weekend showing of one of the biggest movies of the year.

Goddammit.

Now I know how Peter Parker feels. Always reaching for the brass ring and coming up short because of his obligations to those that he loves. Gifted with amazing powers beyond the normal man and unable to shine...because he's fucking stuck, being Hendo's fucking sidekick.

Fuck.

I am a Spider-Idiot.

Donning his mask and web-slinging across a rainy Chicago skyline,
Mr.B

PS. Incidentally, I happen to have 4 tickets for the 7pm showing of Spiderman 3 on Saturday, May 5th available for cost, if anyone wants them! They're in the absolute middle of row F, basically dead center. I can let you have them for $60 (obo). Email or text me, if you want them! Or post in the comments below!

Regarding Improv...

CIN has a thread going where they're asking for quotes about improv for their welcoming page. I've seen some nice ones there. Likely, I'll come back later and steal quotes that are new to me, and add them to my Master List of Improv Quotes. (I created a Master List of Improv Quotes for a project that I was working on for the PG about a year ago. It's not something that I look at regularly. But I try to remember to update it, whenever these sorts of things pop up.)

There are two quotes that are missing that I was tempted to submit to the thread... buuuuuuuut, they're not very flattering and I don't think CIN can use them.

That doesn't stop me from posting them here, though.
They are, as follows.



Improvisation is a parlor trick, anyone can do it. - Willy Wonka


and



90% of all improv is garbage. - Jonathan Rhys Davies


Am I wrong for wanting those printed up on a t-shirt?

Sporting a Healthy Sense of Humor,
Mr.B

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

A Nerd In Disguise.

In the office where I am temping, we have an employee. Her name is MaryBeth Higginbotham. (not her first name, in case she googles herself.)

Frequently, I have to deliver faxes and mail to her. Each time that I do, I think to myself...

"Many Higginbothams had to die to bring us this information."

I am a nerd.

Cheers,
Mr.B

For those who are thinking, "Yeah? So?"
A "Bothan" is a species of creature in Star Wars. They are most well known for Mon Mothma's line, "Many bothans had to die to bring us this information" in Return of the Jedi. She is referring, of course, to the schematics of the second Death Star. Which Lando Calrissian eventually blows up.
One of the later prequels, actually showed a Bothan in a scene or two. The helpful red arrow identifies one in the picture, below.